Emblem
by anhedral
Summary: Between a willing woman and a willing dragon, Eret gets a bit more than he bargained for when he comes to live on Berk. For the big man's own well-being, it's just as well he's not complaining. Post-HTTYD2. *Story contains explicit sexual content from the very start.*


**AN:** Story contains explicit sexual content from the very start. It is my first attempt with this type of material, and I admit to feeling a little nervous.

* * *

**Emblem**

"Oww! Be careful, woman!"

"Ach, just listen to you. Just grin and bear it, ya big baby."

He lifts his head up off the furs to stare at her in futile accusation.

"I swear you blunted that needle just for me. OWWW!"

He's spreadeagled, leather thongs binding his wrists and ankles securely to the top and bottom of the bed. A gloriously naked Ruffnut kneels over him, straddling his hips to claim him deep within her. So long are her blond, unbraided locks that they tumble down almost to her waist, framing the flushed and freckled beauty of her just-there breasts and slender neck. Dainty and precise, the long fingers of her left hand wield a thin bone point; she balances an ink-bowl in her right. But she pauses then, with needle poised to strike, and grins at him manically. Her eyes gleam, one part mischief and three parts sadism, and he knows he's made a mistake.

"Don't even think it, Ruff. It's just...are you _sure_ you need so much ink?"

"It's - " Jab. "Your - " Jab. "Own - " Jab. "FRICKIN' DESIGN! Now just lie still, and..."

She sets her gear aside, leans palms upon his shoulders and bends down to place an impish kiss on the tip of his nose. The hard spikes of her nipples scrape maddeningly across his inky chest, and there's not a chance in Hel that the move was accidental.

"...admire the view!"

Eret, son of Eret, finest dragon trapper alive and commander of ships and men, flops back like a bunny and resolves to do exactly as his wife instructs him.

She clenches him _down there_ \- dear Thor in a thunderstorm, just how did she learn to _do_ that? - and he grimaces and groans, nearly losing it right there and then.

"Tell you what," she continues nonchalantly, leaning back and taking up her weapons once again. "To take your _mind_ (squeeze) off _things_ (squeeze), why don't you tell me all the wonderful things that've happened to you, since you came to live in Berk?"

She favours him with a cherubic smile that's fooling no-one.

"And here's the twist. You have to leave me out of it."

"You... _what!?_"

"You heard me. I already know about that good stuff, and what you need right now is a distraction. So tell me 'bout the rest. Do it _right_, husband mine..."

She bobs her hips an inch, just once, her heat and slickness an exquisite torture as she clasps and slides around him. He growls, frustrated at how easily she can bring him to the very edge, and tries to focus very hard on the pair of Terrors gazing at them wide-eyed from the rafters.

"...and I will _reward_."

Her voice drips with seduction and an evil sweetness; all the same, he's never known her so conversational and eloquent. She's waging warfare on his chest while making ecstasy between his thighs, and some parts of his anatomy, at least, aren't minded to complain.

Just what species of a demon has he married?

Ruff starts to hum an idle tune, never a good sign. She loads her needle, surveys the bloody, inky carnage of the battlefield before her, and squirms.

Readying herself for a fresh assault, he assumes.

"Right here, Eret, and still waiting..."

His mind races. Terrors in the rafters.

"Ah, ah, I'll talk to you about dragons, about Skullcrusher..."

That earns him a single raised eyebrow. But the humming stops - there's that, at least. Perhaps he's bought himself a short pause in hostilities.

"Well, it'll do for starters, I suppose..."

* * *

His new bride, he discovered, wasn't the only one in Berk with an wicked sense of humour. However, the new chief's own was of a different, more subtle flavour.

"Y'know, Skullcrusher's gonna need someone to look after him..."

That had been the hook, the kick-start to their bond. Eret didn't understand the twist till later on. But the dragon had been willing, and seemed to know just what to do. He'd taken Eret quite literally under his wing, barging in all uninvited to the former trapper's lodgings late on that first night as Eret lay there, quite alone and wide awake and musing uncertainly on strange events just past. Against all of Eret's protestations the dragon had insisted with gentle nudges that they sleep together close, before the fire. The experience was oddly soothing to the raw new resident of Berk: inexplicably, through some unknown tender magic, the contact with that warm and scaly skin began to leach out all his guilt at past misdeeds. In the weeks to come it was often Eret who first sought out the closeness of that touch - just as often, in fact, as did his dragon friend.

And then there'd been those nervous early flights, the plated reptile oh so patient with his new rider's errors and incompetence. And Skullcrusher was sensitive to Eret's body, sensed the sprains and soreness, knew when to call a halt. Oft-times Eret had been gently deposited upon the clifftop turf to mend, while the dragon lounged beside him or else left him for a while to chase the pollock shoals.

Of course Skullcrusher didn't need any looking after. Hiccup's words hadn't been for Eret, not for one moment.

The dragon had understood this, instantly.

The realisation of it - and all that it implied - shocked Eret through and through. But that was nothing, nothing at all, compared with what was to come.

* * *

"Hit me like a battleaxe, when it happened to me."

He blinks and shakes his head, and finds his naked wife gazing down at him with wild, untrammeled fondness.

"When Barf spoke to me the first time. Middle of a race, my dragon pipes up, tells me to ignore my idiot brother and just focus on the flying. Damn near fell off his sodding neck, right there and then. But we started winning races, after that."

"I always wondered what had changed..."

She resumes her loving then, taking her pleasure in a leisurely slow grind, the rhythm utterly infuriating. At some point in the proceedings she's finished the tattoo and loosed his wrists, though he remembers neither. He glances, flummoxed, at his untied hands; she notices, and rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you're all done. I should've guessed; only thing to distract my man from sweet times with his woman would be thoughts of sweet times with his dragon."

She's not entirely put out by the notion - he can see that in her eye. She brushes bony knuckles to the new ink on his chest's right side, too light a touch to really sting.

"I like it. Dragon curled around you. Eye gets drawn to this now, not..."

She leaves her words hanging, reluctant, as she always is, to make mention of the still-bright brand inflicted by his former master. Eret loves her for it, but she's being silly, really. He's never felt further from Draco's dominion or safer than he does right now, even when he's trussed up on this bed.

She runs light hands over the tight muscles of his forearms.

"Still seeing plenty of pale skin here." Her voice is light and giddy. "But you have to do me first. I'm thinking something - lower back?"

It sounds delicious.

"As my lady commands."

"Hmm, just so. But fair's fair, lover mine. Spill it. Your first time with Skullcrusher - you have to tell me!"

Ruff hunches forward, suddenly fervent, hard and lean thighs tensing as she works the friction of the new angle with determination. His world explodes in bright sparks. Clearly she intends to have her answer, whether by fair means or by foul.

"_Gahhh_ woman, slow slow slow! It was, um, yes, the middle of the night, heard this _tune_ and then this _voice_, telling me to fuel the fire..."

"Ooooh!"

She's losing language now, picking up the pace despite his protest, skin afire as sweat beads in her cleavage. She's wonderfully, impossibly wet down where she's stretched so tight around him, to where he fills her to completeness over and again. And at this point he knows just what to do.

He holds his fingertips to brush her breasts, her own body's movement doing all the work. He gazes at her, absolutely shocked and delighted as she quivers at his touch; she moans, and flings her head to arch her back. Totally exposed, she heaves her chest into his hold, and impales herself still deeper. The sudden intensity is startling, beyond amazing; at this rate, she'll reach the edge before him after all.

_What's changed?_

"Th- they're listening in, y'know..." Her voice is but a ragged whisper. "Can't you feel them?"

Oh gods, _she's right._

Their draconic other halves, sensitive, sentient, talkative. Of course they're listening in. It isn't in his power to stop them.

Does he even _care_?

Far off along the shore, on the other side of Berk, twin dragon-bellows rend the night with raucous jubilation.


End file.
